


Catalyst

by Siriusfanatic



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Betrayal, Blackmail, Coercion, Divided X-Men, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Father Figure Logan, Father Figure Remy, Jealousy, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Possible Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, non-evil Daken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5829424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since the world was saved from being consumed by the Phoenix, but the world has not yet healed from the unexpected fall out. Mutants have become Humanity's last chance for survival, one that is taken grudgingly. Magneto now rules over a divided world, along side his most elite Mutants, who's powers provide the life saving vaccine the Human depend on. But storm clouds gather and the uneasy truce between the survivors is tested to a breaking point. </p>
<p>    Wolverine, one of the Mutant Elite, is sent out to deal with a band of trouble makers who have been stealing shipments of Beast's life saving vaccine. What he discovers is not just common thievery but a mission of mercy lead by an unexpected source, and the unraveling of a very long thread of lies and conspiracy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

                _“Peace is an illusion, perhaps the grandest of its kind.”_

 

 

                He watched the tide roll in beyond the coastline, watching the sea and the sky churn in tandem, the heavy clouds traveling fast and dipping low across the island city, bringing mist and rain and a storm on its coattails. With his remaining good eye he could see the little forks of lighting that streaked down from the sky on the horizon to dance along the foaming waves.

                “Scott?”

                It took him a second to realize that the voice that had spoke a moment ago wasn’t only in his mind, but rather that of the man who came to join him on the tower balcony. He turned, muscles and joints somewhat stiff from the rain and greeted the white haired man who approached him. “Erik,” he greeted. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you coming.”

                Erik Lehnsherr, tall as ever, but broader and with a snowy head of hair and sunken, forbidding eyes, crossed the short distance between them, a smile on his face. “We missed you this morning. Have you been out here the whole time?”

                Scott nodded, shifting his weight and gathering his coat a little closer around himself against the chill. He had always been lean, but these days he looked more frail, much of his former muscle withered, though he tried his best to maintain what strength he could. “They were due back today. I had hoped they would arrive on the first shuttle back.”

                Erik put his hand on Scott’s shoulder, feeling where flesh gave way to metal beneath the fabric of his clothing. “You’re impatient, I understand. But there’s an old adage about these things…something about how a watched pot never boils.”

                Summers turned his head away from the horizon and gave a little nod and conceded. “You’re right, I know you’re right. But with all the rumors lately…”

                “Only rumors.” The elder man said decisively. “Come in now, the rain will be upon us in a moment.”

                They turned together and retreated into the tower, which lead into the wide circular common room. It had arguably the best view in the entire city, and it was shared by few who dwell in Minister’s home. Scott spent much of his time there, watching the city that grew and continued to thrive beneath them every day. But more often than not, his gaze was more distant, staring into the far horizon, either to the sea, or the vague outline of the wall beyond the capital limits.

                “Has Hank been to see you yet today?”

                “No,” Scott grunted, easing himself into his familiar arm chair close to the fireplace and begrudgingly releasing a sigh of relief to be off his feet. His hand went reflexively to his right thigh and began to massage the throbbing muscles there just above the prosthetic limb that began above his kneecap. “I imagine he’s just as impatient as I am for the others to return. It’s been weeks since their deployment; it’s hard on a man.”

                “Especially one in love.” Erik answered with a rueful smirk.

                “Leave them alone,” Scott chided, “They both work hard enough for you, and for the rest of us. They deserve every moment of happiness and peace they can get; it has been hard earned.”

                “I’m not disagreeing,” Erik replied, moving around to a slightly cluttered desk on the other side of the fireplace and rummaging through the drawers until he managed to locate a small syringe from its case, which he handed to the younger man. “But I know what a distraction it can create. You’d better not wait any longer for Dr. McCoy.”

                Scott nodded and took the medication, which he pressed against his thigh before pulling the little trigger. The syringe gave a quick hissing sound and Scott winced for a second before sighing faintly in relief, and handing the spent cartridge back to Lehnsherr. “I’m starting to think that all this is my new normal,” he muttered. “The phantom pains, the aches…does it ever go away?”

                “I wish I could be of more help, Scott, truly.”

                The brunette nodded and was quiet for a moment, seeming to rest and recover himself. “Well, aren’t you going to fill me in on the meeting?”

                The white haired man paused a moment and then nodded; “There has been some progress, I’m happy to say. One of the hold-out states has finally come to its senses, we are sending in supplies and peace-keeping forces within the next six hours. I do believe a large part of the population can be helped in time, so long as we incur no further resistance.”

                Scott nodded; “And they agreed to our terms?”

                Erik almost smirked, resting his chin against his hand as he studied the younger man across from him. “Well yes; there wasn’t much alternative in that. Either they had to surrender the Mutants they had captive and agree to allow our forces to take control…or no vaccine.”

                He saw Scott narrow his eyes at him behind the red lenses of his glasses. “You’re still holding them hostage, Erik.”               

                “Very much the other way around, or did you not hear me when I said that they had prisoners of their own?”

                “They’re scared. They’re dying. We’re supposed to _help_ them, not…”

                “We are helping them, Scott. But you know as well as I do that not everyone recognizes help when they first see it. And some people are too stubborn to accept it. We had to make the choice clear; we can’t waver, we can’t hesitate.”

                Scott looked away, his knuckles to his lips. “I can’t help thinking about what Charles would say about this.”

                Finally Erik’s smile disappeared completely and he stood, folding his hands behind his back. “We’ll never know, Scott. They silenced his voice with their fear and their hatred and their stupidity. I think that makes them unworthy of his opinion, don’t you?”

                He looked at Scott pointedly, and the younger man refused to meet his gaze. Eventually the older man sighed softly; “Nevermind it. You’re the humanitarian, the face of the people…leave the nasty business of politics to me.”

                There was a faint but insistent beeping noise then that came from both of their wrists, alerting them that their anticipated arrivals had finally reached the city’s borders. Scott stood again, more quickly than he was really able to, excitement on his face. Magneto reached to steady him, and nodded, “Go on. I’ll be along shortly.”

 

**

 

                Fifteen minutes later, he arrived in the reception port at the edge of the city’s harbor. Though Scott still wasn’t sure of that was proper word for it.

                Utopia, the city of refuge, was a floating island that hovered about fifteen miles off the shores of Long Island, and the little sliver of coast that had once been Coney Island. Erik’s powers of magnetic levitation, held the city aloft at a thousand feet above the ocean, a great floating monolith that overlooked the ruins of a world divided.

                There were a dozen ports placed around the circular city which allowed access beyond its barriers. At each there was a tunnel by a which a plane or hovercraft could pass into a secured airlock, before allowing it’s passengers to disembark onto the wide circular platforms beyond.

                Here Scott waited, alongside many others, all eager to see the return of the Minister’s elite peacekeepers.

                His steps were slow and halted, at times jarring and clumsy as he continued to get used to his prosthetic limbs. They were all unique works of art, manufactured by Forge himself, but Scott could not get used to them. Still, he pressed on, his focus on other things.

                Among the crowd that was gathered, he spotted two figured immediately. The first was a tall, stately dressed woman, who wore a long black overcoat edged with gold, and white vest and matching suit pants beneath, her long white hair waving behind her in the breeze. Beside her was a much younger female who was just short of womanhood herself. Her hair was jet black, short and wild, and she wore a short, bright yellow jacket over her black jumpsuit.

                Scott smiled wistfully at the patch that still adorned the sleeve of her coat; the black and red “X” that had once stood for Xavier’s school, and his team.

                Both women turned to him eagerly as he approached, and the younger opened her arms to embrace him. “Scott! You came!”

                “Was there ever a doubt?” he asked, rubbing a hand across her back for a moment as she held him tight, head flat against his chest, then pulled back with a slightly dimmed grin and looked behind her. Ororo approached him and drew him into an embrace as well, kissing his cheek.

                “It’s good to see you, Scott. I’m so sorry I haven’t—“

                “We’ve all been busy, Ororo. No apologizes needed.” He answered with a warm nod. The woman returned the gesture and looked him over, making him tense slightly. It had been a few weeks since his last relapse and subsequent treatment. He knew that he looked worse for wear, but he refused to lie quietly and shrivel up.

                Her fingers brushed over his cheek and she smiled genuinely, even if it was in a sad way. “You’re getting some color back in your face. Fresh air is doing you good.”

                “They’ll be excited to see you,” Jubilee cut in then, drawing them from their revere. She glanced at the clock tower that stood at the center of the circular hub, surrounded by benches and greenery. “If they ever _get_ here, ugh!”

                “Patience, Jubilation,” Storm reminded her. She looked back beyond the transparent walls towards the skyline, dark lips suddenly thin was restrained anxiety. There was still no sign of the ship that was due to return, all she could see was the grey mist of rain blotting out the horizon. “They will be here.”

                “Have you heard anything?” Scott asked, eyes narrowed behind his visor.

                Ororo shook her head; “They’ve been very tight lipped about the whole thing, Piotr gave me what information he could, but even that was vague.”

                “So the campaign went well?”

                “It ended favorably for us, as I understand it.” She answered, but there was no ease in her voice.

                “Casualties?”

                “They are returning with hostages,” she nodded her head in the direction of another group that was just beyond theirs, comprised of several known healers and the head of the medical staff.

                “I hope they don’t bring back any more bodies,” Jubilee replied quietly, arms wrapped around herself. “Last time…”

                Storm squeezed her shoulder gently. “Perhaps this is not the best place for you—“

                “No,” she insisted, lifting her head a bit higher. “I want to see him as soon as he steps off that transport. It’s been three weeks. I don’t care what else comes off that thing, I _need_ to see him.”

                “There,” Scott said suddenly, diverting their attention. Through the grey they could now see two bright sets of white lights soaring fast through the mist, flanked by other dots of blue and red. The chattering crowd looked up in a sudden hush of anticipation as the transport made its way towards the port.

                There was a deep moment of tension as they looked beyond it, watching to see if it had been followed.

                This time, however, it had come alone.

                The response team made its way into position at the airlock door, ready to rush in if need be. A security team was also present. Scott ignored those who were positioned atop the watch towers above the port, ready to strike if an attack occurred.

                The three stood together in tense silence for ten agonizing minutes as the transport entered the airlock and the security scan was implemented.

                They heard the sound of feet thudding across the pavement behind them and turned nervously, just in time to see the bounding figure of Hank McCoy rushing towards the group. “Is it here? Is it--?” he panted, obviously having been running at full speed for sometime before he reached the platform. He nearly crashed into them in his effort to slow himself, and both Storm and Scott braced him as he came to a stop.

                “Just in time, Hank.”

                The blue furred feral Mutant, his amber eyes wide and anxious behind the lenses of his glasses, looked on as the airlock doors clicked and hissed, rolling away.

                Many things seemed to happen at once then. Multiple figures appeared, a dozen in all. The medical response team rushed in, reaching for those who appeared first. These were the former hostages, most walking on their own, while others were supported by other figures, dressed in silver and black uniforms.

                Jubilee started forward, but Storm kept her grip on her shoulder with just her finger tips. “Wait…”

                As the injured were loaded into waiting ambulances and others placed on less urgent transport, the figures in silver and black became more distinguishable.

                The Peace Keepers; Magneto’s elite squad. Victor Creed, who stood a head and half taller than all the other members, was easiest to spot, his long blonde hair looking somewhat shorn and ragged. He growled and grumbled slightly when a medic pulled him aside to look at an exposed wound on his arm, but allowed them to do their work.

                A woman, her blazing red hair swaying across her shoulders, lingered beside him, speaking hurriedly to the attending medic, who left Creed and followed her back inside the airlock. She limped as she moved and they could see a large swath of red that stained the left side of her uniform.

                A moment later two other figures appeared, both short and broad shouldered, one shouldering the other.       

                Logan Howlett, grim faced and blood stained, helped to guide the other man, his son Daken, into the waiting arms of the response team.

                They spoke quickly to the gathered group and Daken, who looked to have suffered some burns, nodded vaguely to his father as the other man gave him over to their care. He lingered a moment more, standing begrudgingly still as he was scanned by a wand by another response member, who seemed to be trying to assess his condition. It was then that the black haired man turned and saw them staring at him.

                Jubilee rushed forward and Storm’s fingers slipped from her coat. She launched herself into Logan’s waiting arms and he caught her, grabbing her tightly as she wrapped herself around him completely head on his shoulder.

                She made a sob that was somewhere between an anxious yelp and giggle, and he wrapped his thick arms around her and kissed her face and hair.

                “Miss me, kid?”

                “You jerk,” she sobbed, kissing his cheek hard and ruffling his thick black hair, tugging at the little tufts that jutted out at the edges. “I always miss your stupid face.”

                Storm gripped Scott’s hand in hers, pursing her lips together and the other man felt her fingers tremble in his and he gave them a little squeeze to calm the tremors.

                Hank moved around them, and as Logan managed to dislodge Jubilee, the big blue feral took her place, pulling the smaller man in close and fast, kissing him hard, nearly lifting him off the ground to hold him as close as possible.

                “Are you--?” Hank rasped as soon as they broke, both slightly breathless.

                “Fine. Just fine,” Wolverine answered, looking him firmly in the eye and stroking the thick blue tuft of hair at his jaw.

                Beast nodded wordlessly, watching him closely for a second more, drinking in the features of his face as if trying to familiarize with them once more.

                Logan’s gaze drifted from his to the remaining members of the welcoming committee, his smile broadening when he saw Ororo who rushed to embrace him as well, before turning to one of vague shock at the last member, who stood there silent and waiting, hands folded in front of him.

                “Good to have you back, Wolverine.”

                “Good to be back, slim.” Logan answered, stepping closer to him. Scott extended a hand to shake his, and Logan took it firmly and then drew him forward to embrace him as well. “Not sure which of us looks worse,” Wolverine chuckled softly, though he held Scott a bit tighter.

                Scott laughed in turn, nodding. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, but we need to talk.”

                The shorter man glanced at the others beside him, who all looked on nervously at this statement. “It can wait a bit, Scooter, after the debriefing. And after I’ve had a shower and a beer. A nice cold beer…”

                Cyclops squared his jaw, looking displeased, but nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”

                Hank kept an arm around Logan as they walked, and Jubilee clung to the man’s arm as she followed. Storm however, remained, turning her attention to Scott once she was sure that both feral mutants were far enough out of their range of hearing.

                “Walk with me?” Scott asked, lifting his arm for her to take. She did so graciously as they walked back towards the high towering buildings beyond the sweeping tiered landscape created by the island. “When is your next departure?” Scott asked quietly.

                “Soon,” she answered, “I’m leaving tomorrow on a transport to White Plains with Wanda and Illylana to discuss a rebuilding project there.”

                “Will you be meeting with them when you’re through?”

                “The moment I can get away. I wish Wanda weren’t coming with me on this trip…it’s been difficult enough to hide things from her.”

                “Not good for the relationship either, I imagine.” Scott nodded and she squeezed his elbow lightly. “You’re still afraid she won’t understand.”

                “Not at all. I know she will understand, we’ve discussed our views thoroughly. But I can’t put her at odds with Erik, not for me. She loves him and…I sense that he needs her.”

                Scott nodded, “I understand, Ro, but we must think of the bigger picture. If you believe Wanda will be on our side, than we need to use that to our advantage. Something isn’t quite right with Erik these days, he seems more distant and bitter than before.”

                “It’s nearly the anniversary of the riots,” the dark skinned woman reminded him gently, looking at him cautiously.

                Scott’s steps slowed slightly. “Is it really?” he adjusted his glasses, “I didn’t realize…”

                She stopped then and hugged him quickly. “We’re going to make it right for them, Scott. I promise. If it cost me everything I have, everything I am, we are going to set this _right._ ”

                He nodded, kissing her cheek. “Thank you, Ororo.”

 

***

 

                An hour later they were seated at the large round conference table in Magneto’s war room. Scott, Ororo, Logan, Hank, Victor, Mystique, Pietro and Erik made up the small party, their faces marked with the seriousness of the occasion.

                “The rioting isn’t getting any better,” Logan began, his voice a bit more gruff with lingering fatigue, “the conditions down there, especially outside the secured places, are god-awful. People are suffering, dying, living in the ruins of the city. They’re pissed, and who can blame them. These terrorist cells are taking advantage of their fear, using it to gain more bodies that they can throw at us. We took down this particular group, but I’m sure there are dozens more. It’s not going to stop.”

                “Why do you say that?” Erik asked, glancing up from his pensive stance in front of the window.

                Logan leveled his gaze at the man, “A lot of people still ain’t gotten over what happened, and they aren’t keen on the way we’ve been handling things.”

                “They’re ungrateful,” Pietro cut in, sitting restlessly near Magneto’s empty seat, his feet kicked up on the table in a childish, bored manner. “They’ve already forgotten that it was _us_ who saved them from certain death. And this is how they thank us?”

                “Perhaps it is difficult for them to see this view point when you consider the source of their suffering,” Ororo replied. “No one could have foreseen that the defeat of the Phoenix Force would cause such wide spread radiation, nor that it would spare only those with the X-gene. Mutants began their troubles…as much as it pains us, we can’t ignore that.”

                “Blaming ourselves isn’t the answer,” Mystique replied. “We have done everything to undo the effects. We endure countless procedure after procedure _just_ to create their life-saving vaccine! And yet they still try to murder us, call us tyrants, oppressors. They haven’t changed. They _won’t_ change.”

                “Blah, blah, _blah_ ,” Victor muttered from his own chair next to her, where he sat sharpening his claws. “You can sit here and bitch and moan, or we can finally _do_ something about it. Taking out these little cells one at a time, bringing in prisoners just to turn ‘em back over to Kelly and his people isn’t doing _shit._ We need to take ‘em out at the knees. No more vaccine runs, _period._ ”

                “That would mean condemning innocent people to death,” Hank cut in sharply, glaring at the blonde feral from where he stood behind Logan’s chair. “It’s against everything we stand for.”

                “Maybe everything _you_ stand for, McCoy,” Victor replied. “But not me. That’s my nephew in your sick bay, suffering from what those _innocent people_ did to him. Not ta mention the body bags we’ve brought back over the last few months. Or don’t they matter to you?”

                “Enough,” Logan muttered to his brother. “You know better than to question where Hank’s loyalties are, Victor. You’re just trying to pick a fight.”

                The fanged feral just grinned, golden eyes glinting mischievously, but said nothing more for the moment.

                “There’s no denying it’s been a trying couple of months,” Erik said then. “But I have been working extensively with Kelly and his top officials to settle the matter once and for all. I believe we are very close to an agreement.”

                This caused the rest of the room to go quiet for a moment. “Erik, I had no idea you were so close…last we spoke with Kelly, his demands were far too high. How did you talk him down?”

                “I haven’t yet, Scott. But it’s because I’ve been waiting for you.”

                “Me?”

                “Yes. You’ve always been the better man, and I think that’s exactly what we need now. We need to show them that we are not interested in our peoples continuing to live at odds, one at the mercy of the other. I need you Scott, I need you there when I meet with Kelly, Trask and the others. It needs to be your face they see, coming to make peace, to promise them a solution.”

                Here Pietro soured, sitting up in his seat. “You think that brining Cyclops to the forefront of this campaign will inspire sympathy? If anything, I think it would make it worse. You’ll just show the rest of the Mutants out there that we’ve given up, that we’re ready to go back to way it was, being hunted and hated.”  

                “How is that any different from now?” Logan snarled. “We’re still hated, or we wouldn’t be hiding up here in this damn floating terrarium!” He looked to Scott, who was still looking fixedly at Magneto, as was Storm. “You think they’ll listen to us? What more can we offer them, other than what we’ve been doing already?”

                “I think…we have to try, Logan.”

                Erik smiled. “I knew I could count on you. And to answer your question, Wolverine, we actually _do_ have a bartering chip nearly at hand.” His eyes shifted to Hank, who glared stoically back at him. “How goes your experiments, Dr. McCoy?”

                “Still too soon to tell,” the blue furred Mutant replied. “I need more time.”

                “We haven’t got it, I’m afraid. I’ll be meeting with President Kelly in three days, I must have something to present him. Some proof of our claim.”

                “And what claim is that exactly?” Storm cut in.

                “A more potent form of the X-gene vaccine. A possible cure for the Phoenix radiation poisoning.” They looked at him with mixed expressions, some filled with quiet shock and cautious optimism, others with blunt disbelief.

                “Hey, I’ll buy whatever you can cook up, McCoy. If it means we ain’t gotta keep going through these Extractions for the rest of our lives.” Victor replied.

                Mystique looked at him, “And give up the status it affords you, Creed? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

                “Sure, the perks of being top dog are nice…” Creed answered, “But the price is getting steep. That shit is starting to take the wind outta my sails for days before I can fight again. And I don’t like being used as anyone’s personal pharmacy, ya know what I mean?”     

                “Soon, Mr. Creed, that will be all behind us. And I wouldn’t worry about losing your place as High Mutant,” Erik smirked, using the term that Humans had coined to signify those Mutants who made their survival possible. “All of you have earned your titles a hundred times over, by what you have given to our cause. No Human or Mutant will ever forget it, I’m certain.” He looked out the windows again, down across the city and over the horizon.

                “Three days, that’s what we’ve got to collect ourselves. This is, I believe, our last chance to make any sort of peace with the resisting forces and bring these conflicts to an end. I think we are all very much ready to see it.” They nodded. “Go on, then, I won’t keep you any longer. You all deserve a rest. We’ll resume tomorrow morning, first thing.”

                They stood as he dismissed them, Scott and Ororo lingering behind with Lensherr and his son, while Mystique and Victor made their way towards Logan and Hank.

                “Guess ya better get cookin on that cure, Beasty,” Creed chuckled as he passed them. “Times a-wasting.”

                Beast bristled, lips curling into a snarl, but Logan put a hand on his wrist and drew him back, glaring Creed down. “Get out of here, Victor. Do something useful with that damn mouth of yours.”

                Creed pulled Mystique in a bit closer to him and nodded, “Oh I intend to.”

                Raven rolled her eyes, prying his hand off her hip and in turn gripping a lock of his blonde hair harshly, tugging him along. “We’ll look in on Daken. I’m sure you two want some time to catch up,” she nodded, winking at them both before tugging Victor away.

                Logan moved with Hank further from the war room door, moving down the wide corridor until they came to an otherwise empty alcove. Here, Wolverine pulled the larger man in close to him. “What’s this about, Hank? Are you really close to--?”

                McCoy looked away, brow furrowed, “Absolutely not. Erik’s forcing me into a corner, hoping to push results, but science just doesn’t _work_ that way!” his voice rumbled into a bark of frustration and Logan saw his eyes narrow and flash as his nostrils flared. Logan smoothed his hand calmly across his bicep, feeling the tension in the man’s thick muscles, hoping to ground him in the moment before his temper could boil over.

                “But you must be on to _something_ ,” the dark haired mutant added.

His lover sighed deeply, nodding his head. “I have been working at a true cure since the beginning, but all my trials have failed to yield positive results. The radiation from the Phoenix’s dissolve is unlike any I’ve encountered before, I have gone into this _blind_ you understand. I _am_ getting close, but…” he looked at Logan nervously.

He turned his head then, craning his neck as he glanced up and down the halls, listening for signs of approach or others lingering nearby. But there was nothing but the view from the terrace windows and the flickers of sunlight that danced along them, casting shadows as the clouds churned and shifted overhead, drawing the rain in closer.

                Logan could smell fear on the man and leaned in closer, catching his cheek and drawing his attention back to him. “Hank…whatever it is, I know you will figure it out.”

                McCoy nuzzled his palm and brought him closer, “I don’t deserve the blind faith you have in me, my love.”

                Logan kissed him and Hank drew him into his arms with a moan. He had forgotten how much he had come to crave the other man’s touch, his scent, his warmth. Logan seemed to be slipping a little further and further from his grasp each day that this conflict continued, and it was killing the man by degrees.

                They broke apart at last and Logan sighed, leaning his head against Hank’s, who caressed him longingly. “Hmmmm…that kiss o’ yours always brings me back, Hank. No matter how dead on my feet I am.”

                Hank almost whimpered, nuzzling him. He’d spent the last few weeks in constant tension and anxiety, wondering what state his lover would return to him. If he would be embracing him like this, or struggling to keep him alive. He wanted to put all that turmoil far behind them, and just exist quietly for awhile.

But Hank knew his obligations. Too well in fact. And as much as it pained him, he had no choice but to obey. “Logan, I don’t want to ask but—“

                “I know, Beasty.” The other man replied softly, stroking his fur. “There’s no putting it off. Lets go down to the lab now and get it over with.” He smiled, knowing that Hank was swelling with anxiety and regret for what needed to be done now. “Then you can patch up my boy, and I will be all yours.”

               

**

 

                Beast’s lab was secluded and private, located in a separate building from Magneto’s tall tower which housed the new Mutant government, while also accommodating housing for those he kept closest to him.

                The building, tall and angular like many of the others in the highest tier of the new city was under constant security, and only those who were given explicit access were able to enter at any given time. Here Hank preformed all his research, as well as over saw the wounded and sick of the Mutants within the city and those brought from beyond. No Humans were housed here, at least not currently. He had a separate hospital in the remains of Manhattan for those patients, which was currently being run by his partner Celia Reyes.

                Logan, because of his elite status, had full access of course, and accompanied Hank without being bothered by the security personnel, who knew him by name and bowed their heads respectfully. Wolverine always found the treatment strange, being regarded so highly, even among his peers. He doubted he’d ever get used to it.

                On the second third floor of the five story building, was Hank’s private lab, which was uncluttered by his follow researchers and patients. The room was wide and bright, meticulously organized and housed many of McCoy’s pet projects. There was a corner that appeared more like a lounge, which contained two old arm chairs and a couch, a white board which spanned the length of a short dividing wall and one lonely coffee pot perched on a rolling bench. Hank’s forgotten or used cups littered the corners of wide black counter tops, laden with files and microscopes and a bevy of scientific tools. There was also a very large freezer against another wall containing all of Hank’s cold storage samples.

                Logan started to shrug himself out of his tattered and bloody uniform, stripping down to his briefs by the white board as Hank made his way over to another cut off section of the room, pushing back the curtain to reveal a long metal operating table, which sported both arm and leg restraints and a strange circular bar which was able to rotate up and down the table from an overhanging arm above it.

                The blue furred Mutant sterilized the table quickly and turned to the detached computer that was connected to it, hurriedly typing something onto the holographic touch screen and flipping hurriedly through several screens of settings. “I don’t want to do this,” Hank muttered, glancing at Logan through the faint obstruction of the semi-transparent screen. “Not so soon after your return. But of the four of you, you’re in the most sound condition.”

                “It’s fine,” Logan replied as he made his way towards the table and seated himself upon the cold sterile table, thick fingers gripping the cool edge beneath him. “The area we liberated was loaded with infection, they’re going to need all the vaccine you can make.”

                Hank nodded grimly, “I wouldn’t have to make more so soon…if the shipments actually _made_ it there.”

                “Darlin’, let’s not open that can of worms right now.”

                The other man sighed heavily and nodded, “Of course. I’m sorry…” He turned then as the machine began to create a low whirring noise and a blue light filled the underside of the circular bar. Hank laid himself back against the table as Hank helped position him, hesitating at the restraints.

                The black haired man out his hand over his, “It’s okay, I can take it.”

                Hank paused pensively and then nodded. “Deep breathes…do your best to relax.”

                Logan tried, but his muscles were already in knots and his hands wouldn’t unclench. The “extraction” process was deeply unpleasant one. He looked up at the glowing blue light that was shimmering about two feet above his head now, knowing any minute it would glow brighter and brighter and he would be filled with that searing warmth from the inside out.

                He felt Hank prick him with a long IV needle, taping it quickly to the inside of his arm and securing the dripline before doing the same on his other arm and one of either thigh. The places were the needles were inserted were marked now by little blueish purple rings that never faded, just beneath the skin. It was the only mark that Logan or any of his kind had ever received that his healing factor could not seem to erase.

                “Are you comfortable?”

                “As well as anyone can be on a metal board,” Wolverine scoffed. “Come on, darling, enough with the small talk. Just get it over with.”

                His lover nodded, checking each tube one more time and seeing that they were firmly secured to the collection bags which were gathered just beneath the bed, three in all. Then he leaned over Logan’s prone figure and kissed him gently. “You’re my hero, you know that?”

                “Don’t try to butter me up…”

                “Do you remember that hike we took, three years ago, in those mountains in Tennessee?”

                Logan nodded fondly as Hank moved away. “Think of that.”

                Wolverine exhaled deeply and looked at the light above him as it started to grow brighter and the hum of the machine rose in his ears. He felt a fresh pull of blood through his veins as his pulse quickened and he tried one more time to relax…breathe…

                The ring began to move above him, gliding over the bed. Logan felt heat on his skin that penetrated deep into his muscles, a heat that quickly rose in fervor until he felt like he had sunk into boiling water. He set his jaw hard and winced. The circle continued to glide up and down his body, gaining speed as the light and the heat continued to rise.

                Logan fought the urge to scream; he felt like he was on fire, burning from the inside out. Sweat covered him immediately and he began to shake as his muscles tensed and spasmed under the glowing beam of blue light. He growled in pain and forced himself to remain upon the table, gripping the edges of the arm restraints as he bucked and writhed involuntarily. The tubes of the IV’s began rush with fluid, which was milky and tinged with red, seeping out of his insides and rushing into the bags below.

                “Just a few more seconds…” Hank called, but Logan couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own body twisting and contorting on the slab with seizure-like movements. The pain had forced out every other thought in his mind and he screamed in spite of himself, mouth open and eyes wide and blind. It had never hurt this bad…

                The Extraction process took no more than five minutes to complete, but pain had a way of making even seconds feel like days crawling by.

                The light above him was blinding and hot, like being too close to the sun. The sound of his cries was slowly being blotted out by the constant high hum of the machine. Hank, the lab and the world outside seemed utterly obliterated…

                Then, abruptly the light dimmed. The burn, which seared him so deep he felt it to his marrow, began to lessen. The world seeped into blissful darkness.

               

                The moment the mechanical arm ceased its movement of the ring, Hank was beside him, checking his pulse, his breath, lifting his eyelids to check his awareness. “Logan, Logan,” he called firmly, and as calmly as he could manage, “Darling, are you with me? Can you hear me?”

                His heart rate was racing, but slowly beginning to drop down out of dangerous levels. Hank fixed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and moved quickly to dislodge the needles in his arms and leg, sealing off the tubing to prevent any loss of the fluid inside. He let them dangle off the edge of the table and quickly gathered Logan up, feeling that his skin was still slick with sweat.

                Beast moved him swiftly from the Extraction table and out of the lab entirely, moving purposefully towards an adjoining door, which lead to Hank’s private living area. He moved immediately into the dark bedroom, where he deposited the unconscious man upon the large bed before sinking down beside him, continually checking his vital signs as he wiped him down with a cool cloth. Logan’s skin was momentarily blistered from the effects of his machine, and his veins were too bright beneath the pale cover of his skin. But slowly they started to return to normal.

                Hank looked at his watched and counted the seconds, noting each symptom as it faded.

                Wolverine’s healing factor’s response time was at an all-time low. The lesions that once appeared and vanished in under ten seconds now lingered for a full three minutes before mending themselves. It took even longer for Logan’s heart rate to even out, and the residual tremors to cease.

                Hank made the man as comfortable as he could, propping pillows beneath his head and giving him a small injection of specially formulated pain killer which he had developed for mutants with regenerative qualities.

                Twenty minutes passed before his patient regained consciousness.

                “Goddamn…” Wolverine slurred, his voice shaky and weak upon first use. “That was a rough one.”

                Hank came beside him and put his arms around him protectively. “I know. I’m sorry…I should have given you more time.” He growled quietly, “Damn Lehnsherr…he has no idea the toll these Extractions take on you and the others. All he cares about is maintaining his control, of keeping the rest of the world dependent on his so called charity…” He swallowed his anger, refocusing on his lover, who still looked shaken. “Are you in any pain still? Can I get you anything? Anything at all?”

                The dark haired man shook his head, though even that seemed to come at a great effort. “I’ll be fine…go take care of my boy.”

                Hank nodded, kissing the man’s fingers as he pressed his hand close in his. “I’ll remind him what a good father he has.”

                Wolverine managed a small smile before slipping under again, and Hank tucked the blankets around him before finally willing himself to leave his side.

                Guilt gnawed at his guts as he moved back into the lab, setting the security sensors to alert him if Logan regained consciousness in his absence. He looked on at the bags of collected fluid beneath the Extraction table with disdain. With a heavy hand he reached and plucked them from their place, moving them hurriedly over to one of his work stations, where he would need to empty the collected fluid into vials and place them immediately into cool storage until they reached the proper temperature for his purposes.

                The result of the Extraction process was to create a highly concentrated form of regenerative antibodies in the blood. These mutated and aggressive cells when combined with other components, were the only hope Humans had against the deadly radiation poisoning that now plagued them.

                Logan had produced enough for him to make five hundred more shots of the life preserving vaccine…but even as Hank looked at the raw material, he could tell that it was different. The color had changed, if only slightly and there seemed to be a bit more thinness to its consistency.

                But he hadn’t time to examine it further now. He tucked the bags away into the cooler and made his way out of the lab, heading towards the elevator and the lower level of his building.

                He passed his staff, who all greeted him warmly, though he barely acknowledge them, hardly aware of how harrowed and spent he looked, his lab coat flapping lightly behind him as he moved. He located Daken quickly simply by smell.

                The younger mutant was lying in an isolated bed, his naked skin looking faintly raw and tender from the still healing burns he’d endured. He looked groggily up at Hank, smirking in his faintly wicked way that always reminded him more of Creed than it ever had of Logan.

                “Finally decided to show up did ya…?” the young man scoffed. “Ya look rough, McCoy. My old man give ya a good roll in the sack before you decide to saunter down here and do your job?”

                Hank glared at him and moved around his bed, checking his chart and reaching for his IV drip, “Bite your tongue,” he snapped, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a sterile needle still wrapped in its packaging and a small container of bright pink liquid, which contained the X-gene vaccine. “At least have the decency to pretend you respect me, Daken. For his sake.”

                Daken watched as the doctor added the vaccine to his drip, his eyes following the rush of bright pink liquid as it glided down the tube and vanished into his skin. He felt a little jolt as it hit his system and made him suck in a deep breath, glancing down as his wounds closed and fresh skin began to graft itself over the former raw patches.

                “Aw, Hanky, you know I’m only teasing.” He sighed. He pushed himself up, feeling his strength returning in earnest as he pulled the little sticker sensors for his monitors off his arms and chest. “But I’m guessing from the sour puss on your face, you haven’t been able to celebrate our homecoming just yet.”

                Hank discarded his needle and the empty container and sighed, “I’m worried that your homecoming might be short lived. It seems that our esteemed Minister is closer than we thought to actually brokering peace with Kelly and his followers. I’m sure he’ll require all of you there to re-enforce whatever deal he manages to make with the devil.”

                At this Daken looked genuinely surprised, rubbing fresh skin, which was tingling and itched him vaguely. “Really? Cause you’d never know it by the shape of things over there…these fuckers aren’t playing around. Even if Kelly makes peace, I doubt they’re gonna warm up to us any time soon.”

                “We’ll manage, somehow. Like we always have.” Hank nodded again. The younger man climbed out of bed, grabbing a set of fresh clothes from the little locker next to it and tugging them on. “Where is my old man?”

                “Resting. I just preformed another procedure with him.”

                At this the younger man slowed in his actions and Hank sensed a sudden, slight spike in his adrenaline, denoting a sense of worry and concern. “But we just got off the transport…he hasn’t slept in thirty six hours…why couldn’t it--?”

                “No alternative, I’m afraid,” Hank said curtly, clearly bothered by being questioned. “Of the four of you he was the healthiest, and I’m afraid our reserves have been heavily taxed thanks to the hijackings.” He exhaled sharply and tried to collect himself again.

                “I’m sorry, Daken. I don’t mean to be so harsh. Believe me, I would have held off if I was given any other choice.”

                The younger man nodded slowly, his black hair, laying across one side of his head, limp compared to its usual carefully styled Mohawk, slipping over his eyes. He brushed it away in annoyance, pulling on his shirt next. “Guess that shot you gave me was fresh, huh?”

                “No, actually. This was the last from my previous session with him, before you left on your campaign.” He looked at him carefully, “I hope this will serve to remind you that you need to be a bit less reckless in the future.”

                The younger man grinned, “Aw, Beasty. What’s the good of having a healing factor if you can’t be a little _reckless_?”

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

 

***

 

                Erik walked the gardens, as he always did when he was deep in thought. His study felt suffocating these days, musty and confining and full of old ghosts. He craved fresh air and solitude, where he might think for a moment, uninterrupted by his many burdens.

                His favorite spot, located on a private tier of land beyond his estate was a lush little cove filled with tall oaks and manicured white stone paths, leading to large marble statue of the late Charles Xavier, surrounded by peace lilies.

                It was a smaller version of the statue Erik had erected at the center of the city, a memorial to his friend and former love. A private place for him to grief, and reflect and remember what life was like before…

                Before seemed like a dream. Erik was beginning to wonder how much of it was reality and how much was fantasy. It almost seemed as if there had never been a time before this, a place before this grief and strife, before this hard won victory. But of course there was. That was just his mind playing tricks on him again.

                He stood in front of the statue, eye level with the stone figure, hands folded behind his back as he studied the artful lines cut into familiar shapes and patterns. He wondered if Charles would be pleased with its likeness, or if maybe he would have preferred something that mirrored his younger self. His more idyllic self.

                Erik always remembered him that way, no matter how years wore on and made old men of them. He always remembered that scrawny, blue eyed youth with the wild brown hair and the long nose and that thrill in his eye, that spark and that firm smile of stubborn righteousness. His Charles. The Charles he loved more than anything.

                “It really should be you standing here, you know.” He said with a rueful nod and glance about the grounds. “For all your reservations and compulsory need to stay grounded within the community and our so-called _roots_ …yes. I think you would have liked it here, very much.”

“I’ve done all I can for them. But it still doesn’t seem like enough. This peace is false…we all feel it. What sort of peace can there be while the Human still lie in wait for us to show some vulnerability, while they calculate our demise, biding their time and playing nice. I needn’t be a telepath to know what they’re thinking, Charles.. They deny responsibility for the ones who still openly attack us. But I know better. They need us now, yes, but the moment that changes…there will be a knife in our backs. And I won’t lose any more of them. Because they were so important to you.”

He took a sharper breath, feeling his lungs ache and his throat burn. The light around him seemed to bright, even though it was over cast and hazy at best, and even the quiet felt too loud. He reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling and unsteady and took out a tiny metal case, which contained several small green pills. He hurriedly consumed the handful dry and gulped roughly.

“They look to me now, but I have always…always, looked to you. What am I to do now, old friend? I know what it is you would say to me…but they killed you. And now I must do the thinking for the both of us. But I think you would not deny my ingenuity, at the very least.”

He put his hand over the statue’s as though he could clasp it. “You wanted peace in our time. You wanted no more hatred between us. I will give you that, if takes my dying breath.” He smiled to himself, feeling a familiar burn in his chest and stomach as the pills began to work. “But you’ll tell me all about it soon, won’t you?”

“Daddy?”

Lensherr looked up, startled, turning with his cloak swirling around his shoulders as he turned to see his daughter, Wanda, appear at the edge of the clearing, Ororo Munroe standing close at her side. They both seemed quite startled to have come upon him there in the shade of the trees.

The dark haired girl moved towards him, smiling though there was a hint of concern in her big brown eyes. She wrapped her arms around the taller man in greeting and kissed his cheek. “Pietro said you would be in meetings all day, what with the return of the hostages and all. What are you doing out here?”

“Taking a much needed moment of mediation.” He answered fondly, before glancing over her shoulder at the other woman who lingered behind.

“Why the sudden shyness ambassador? I’ve never known the mighty goddess to hesitate, not even in my presence.”

Ororo stepped forward, looking at him bluntly, as she always did, shoulders squared and head high. “I apologize for interrupting your solitude, Minister. Wanda and I were simply getting a breath of fresh air.”

“Of course. No better remedy for clearing the mind, or so our friend always said.” He glanced back at the statue. “Today was a triumph for him. He would be relieved to see us all back safely, continuing to make strides for peace in the face of doubt and adversity. Of which you’ve played no small part in Ororo. I would be lost without you.”

“Your flattery is kind but unnecessary, Erik.” The white haired woman answered with a small smile that felt more polite than genuine.

“It’s not flattery—it’s honesty. You’ve always carried yourself with a great sense of purpose and an effortless command of any room you enter. But the world doesn’t fear you. You soften my edges, even if it’s only a façade. We both know how deadly you can be.”

“Daddy, stop.” Wanda interrupted then, “Please, no more talk of politics today. There’s so much tension, everywhere…let’s all take a breath and just savor this one moment of calm, shall we?”

“Of course.” He turned his eyes upwards and noticed the clock tower in the distance. “It’s getting late, I suppose. I should check in with your brother, who is no doubt running his mouth almost as fast his feet.”

Wanda said nothing, always disliking whenever he talked down about her brother. He kissed her cheek and nodded to Ororo, who bowed her head in return, and quietly excused himself.

 

Wanda waited until she was absolutely sure that her father was out of earshot before turning back to Ororo, who seemed ruffled by the encounter.

“You wouldn’t have to be so tense around him if we just _told_ him,” she sighed, pushing her thick curls back over her shoulder. “And don’t you dare try to tell me that you’re afraid he’ll disapprove of us; cause when has that ever stopped you from doing anything?” She tried to smile, tried to alleviate some of the tightness she sensed in her lover’s form. Storm smiled at her and pulled her close for a quick kiss.

“It isn’t that,” she answered. “You know I would gladly take on any objections he had of our relationship on any given day. I daydream about it sometimes in fact…” they giggled and held each other close a moment, slipping their hands together as they resumed their walk of the grounds.

“It’s more that I don’t feel like the timing is right.”

“We’ve been together for three months, Ro. When is the time going to be right?”

She lowered her eyes, her gaze troubled as she gave her lover’s fingers a tighter caress. “I’m sorry. You’re right…after this trip, we’ll go to him together.”

Wanda’s smile brightened and Storm leaned in to kiss her, unable to help herself.

“See? I knew you just needed a little convincing.”

 

**

 

                Upon setting foot into his own private housing once more, Magneto found himself greeted by the shouts and bellows of a very heated argument. Cautiously, curiously, he followed the noise towards the library, which was off the main foyer, below the spiraling staircase that lead to the bedrooms above.

                The door was left open, and there he stood in its threshold, reaching for a concealed weapon within his belt as he peered beyond.

                “—You think you can just come in here and try to bully me around, McCoy?” Pietro hissed, standing tensely across the reading table from the other man, who seemed to be worked into somewhat of lather, his claws and teeth bared, looking ruffled and ready to pounce even as he shouted, tossing one of Erik’s antique dining chairs aside and letting to crash and splinter on the rug.

                “ _Bully you_?!” the feral barked, “If anyone is a bully around here, Pietro, it’s you and your father! I have warned you both, repeatedly, of the dangers the extraction process holds for my subjects, but you refuse to listen! What will it take then?! Must I present you a body!? Is that what you want!? YOU WON’T HAVE IT! NOT FROM ME!”

                Beast raked his claws across the table and lunged at Pietro, whom of course was too quick for him. But Beast managed to anticipate at least some of his movements and swiped his claw out, managing force Quicksilver to redirect himself quickly enough to crash into the bookcases, sending it toppling down with a thunderclap and an avalanche of books.

                Quicksilver darted up in a blur and struck McCoy, making him stagger back, snarling with rage, until there was a loud bang that brought them both to attention.

                Erik stood in the threshold of the library, gun in hand, which was pointed just above his head where he had fired a warning shot. “That’s quite enough.”

                The white haired young man was at his side instantly, “I told you that he was loosing it,” the young Maximoff began, “Maybe you ought to chain him up outside for the night and see if he learns his lesson.”

                “There’s no need to be crude,” Erik replied, regarding his son coolly and suspiciously. “Petty insults are below you, or at least they should be.”

                “You’re not taking his side--!”

                Lehnsherr held up his hand to silence him and looked back to Hank, who seemed to be struggling to collect himself, finding his glasses which had fallen off in the scuffle and straightening his rumpled lab coat. “I admit that Dr. McCoy’s first mistake was bringing this matter to you instead of me.”

                “I’m afraid it couldn’t wait,” Hank rebutted, still looking ready for a fight. “Wolverine has been critically weakened, which is exactly what I feared would happen. Yet you continue to demand—“

                “Hank, compose yourself.” Erik cut in. He flicked his head towards Quicksilver again, “Leave us.”

                His son looked dubiously between them. “No, I don’t think you ought to be alone with him.”

                “I didn’t ask for your _opinion_ , Pietro. Leave us.”

                The white haired youth clenched his fists in frustration, then with one last angry look in Beast’s direction, vanished from sight, leaving only a faint rush of air to announce his absence. Erik turned and closed the door behind him, latching it as well as he tucked his gun away inside one of the concealed pockets within his coat.

                “Henry,” he began. “We go back a long time, don’t we?”

                “I’m not in the mood for your nostalgia,” Hank muttered, sharply. “You can keep trying to ignore me, but I won’t let you anymore. This process is becoming dangerous, I don’t even know if I would dare to attempt it on one of the less advanced candidates. It may very well kill them next time.”

                Magneto nodded quietly, picking up the broken chair and making his way towards the toppled bookshelf, studying the fallen texts. Hank knew that the other man was doing this to frustrate him, to make him believe that his outrage and his complaints were petty and less important. It was a tactic that Magneto excelled at, making everyone elses problems seem small in comparison to his burdens.

                “I know you think that I am being reckless, Henry. That I don’t care what happens to them, so long as I can keep the Humans compliant enough to avoid uprising. But I do care, more than you know.”

                “Then this must _stop_ —“

                “And it will,” the Minister replied, turning to Hank with a smile that took the doctor by surprise. “The new vaccine. That is where your focus must be. Once your work on that is completed, the Extraction process will be a thing of the past.”

                Hank grew quiet for a moment, fist balled, looking bitterly at the floor. “You know as well as I do that what we are making is _not_ a cure for the radiation poisoning.”

                “Isn’t it?” Erik mused. “Do we not develop immunities to deadly bacteria and viruses by creating new defenses, by becoming stronger than we were before? Evolution is the key to the survival of all species; this is just our way of giving the rest of Humanity of much needed push into accepting that.”

                “By forcing them to mutate? You realize that probably more than half wouldn’t survive the shock of it—“

                “So be it then.”

                “I will _not_ help you commit genocide, Erik!” Beast thundered. “It baffles me to think, a man that has seen the horrors that you have, could even _stomach_ such an idea! What would Charles say—!”

                _“CHARLES ISN’T HERE!”_ Magento thundered and the room shook, the nuts and bolts and beams within it’s walls quivering with the ringing of his rage.

                “Why isn’t he here?” the man panted. The doctor remained silent, still, glaring at him. Erik hurled a handful of books at him, “ANSWER ME!”

                “…Charles would not have wanted you to use his death as an excuse for murder.” Hank answered, his voice a slow, measured growl. “Hate only begets hate. Do you never learn?”

                The Minister took a moment to compose himself, pushing his hair back into place and falling into a high back chair near the fireplace, massaging his aching head. Hank noticed that his fingers shook, and that his heart rate was much higher than it should have been, even considering his outburst. Moreover, Erik smelled strangely, like he’d been ingesting something potent enough to change his chemical scent.

                “I know you don’t believe me, Henry. But I don’t do this out of hate. I do it out of love. For those of us who remain. This is the only solution I have at hand…taking away the one thing that our enemies continue to cling to, that they use to fuel their prejudice and justify their plot to destroy us all.” He looked pale, and sick then and Hank saw how glazed his eyes seemed as he rested his palm against his mouth thoughtfully. “After all we’ve done…all we’ve sacrificed.”

                “Then let me find an alternative.”

                “We are out of time…” Lenhsherr answered. “We must make the tough choices now.” He looked the former X-Men in the eye, “The man you love is suffering, trying to heal a bunch of bigots who would thank the both of you by taking your lives. Are you ready to sacrifice him, Hank? Are you ready to look Logan in the eye and tell him that you choose them over him?”

                “How dare you—“

                “Are you?”

                Beast didn’t answer, but he couldn’t look Lehnsherr in the eye anymore either. Magneto knew he had won, rising slowly from his chair and making his way towards the door, pausing to pat the other man’s broad arm.

                “I am sorry that this burden has fallen to you. But there isn’t any other man I would trust with the choice, either. You know that those who will be lost is far fewer than those who might be saved. And this cold war between us will be over. Healing can finally begin. _That_ is what I believe Charles would want.”

 

**

 

                Logan woke again, a lingering stiffness in his body but his hurts otherwise vanished like a bad dream. His first thought was of McCoy and he groped blindly along the bed sheets in search for some sign of his lover. But the bed was quite empty.

                Opening his heavy eyes more thoroughly he gazed about the darkened room, but there was no sign of the doctor, and from what he could smell, he had been gone for some time.

                Grumbling, the shorter man pulled himself from the sheets and coverlets and stumbled towards the bathroom, where he turned on the shower head and ducked his head below it. The cool water sought to revive him the rest of the way and he sighed with relief. It was good to be home again.

                He grabbed the towel off the door and dried himself quickly, turning to the sink and grabbing the bottle of mouthwash, rinsing thoroughly as he still had a lingering tang of old blood on his tongue. He spat and glanced up into the mirror, then blinked several times in surprise.

                His hair, short, black and wild, now sported a new streak of silvery white, which began just above his right brow and reached all the way to the ends in a swath that was at least an inch wide.

                “Hnh.” Logan grunted at his reflection, fingering the newly lightened strands. He knew that this was not like finding a few grey hairs, or even a patch that seemed to have crept their way to the forefront over time. This streak had been made by the intense amount of stress he had just undergone, which was intriguing, since otherwise his body showed no sign of the trauma.

                “Something tells me I am never gonna hear the end of this.”

                He dried himself off and dressed quickly, pulling on his familiar pair of jeans, boots, a thread-bare grey t-shirt and his jacket. He pulled his communicator from the beside table and set it to call Hank, but there was no response.

                He frowned. This didn’t seem like him at all, leaving him behind, especially after a procedure, and not answering his calls. Especially after the long absence, Logan figured he wouldn’t be able to leave the man’s side, at least not without a fight.

                Something big must have come up to drag Beast away.

                He started to call Creed to see if he had looked in on Daken yet, when he heard a quick knock on the door. Of course, if he hadn’t been so lost in thought, he would have heard her steps long before she reached it. He picked up her scent immediately and smiled, striding towards the door lead out into the main foyer beyond the elevator, rather than the one that lead in from the lab.

                The smell of sugary sweet bubblegum, overly perfumed body wash, hair product, warm denim that something reminded him of rubber flip-flops greeted his senses and made him grin in spite of himself. That was unmistakably Jubilation Lee.

                The girl greeted him with her usual mischievous grin the moment the door opened, chewing her gum (this one smelled like strawberry) with her mouth open in that obnoxious manner, and threw herself into his arms again, planting a big sticky kiss on his bristly cheek. “Hey! Kinda surprised you answered!”

                “Why’s that?” he asked, prying her off and shuffling her inside as he closed the door and made his way over to the windows to lift the blinds and let some of the remaining daylight in.

                “Well, I was kinda expecting a sock on the door or something…” she answered, flopping down comfortably on his couch in the middle of the wide room, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Where’s Hank?”

                “First of all, don’t mention my sex life,” Logan began.

                She rolled her eyes, “Oh come on, Wolvie, we’re all adults here…”

                “Regardless,” he interjected. “It’s none of your business. Understand.”

                “Alright alright…” she looked at him a little more closely. “Wow…what happened to your hair?”

                He sighed tiredly. It had already started.

                “Nothing.”

                “It makes you look bad ass. Well…more bad ass. And maybe just a _little bit_ old. But in a good way.”

                He smirked and made his way into the little kitchen area, digging in the fridge. “What time is it? You eaten dinner yet?”

                “No. You want to grab something? I’m really up for some noodles.”

                He nodded, noting that the only thing in Hank’s fridge seemed to be decaying vegetables and protein drinks, aside from the large slabs of raw meat that were tucked carefully in the tray below.

                “Sounds good to me.” He glanced at his communicator again, but Hank hadn’t replied to call. He frowned and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

                “Where’d you say Hank was?”

                “No idea, darlin’. But before we go anywhere, I need to check on someone.”

                “If you’re talking about Daken, I saw him heading into the lower part of city. We’ll probably see him down there.”

                Logan looked surprised then relieved. “He’s okay then?”

                “Yeah,” the girl grinned, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her bright yellow jacket as she rocked on her heels, waiting for him now by the door. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

                He didn’t answer at first, but his hand subconsciously strayed towards the streak in his hair again as he came beside her, keys in hand. “Guess yer right, darlin’.”

 

***


End file.
